The Wrong Choice
by EllePine98
Summary: Christine left with Raoul when the mob came for Erik, with flame lit torches and pitchforks, and she'd thought finally she could live and love in peace with her handsome, kind Vicomte. But from the moment they arrived at his home, it was like a switch was flipped, he was cold and brutal, she longed for the days of her Phantom. But with no escape in sight will she save herself?
1. Introduction

Hi, Author here. I should mention before we go any further that this story is inspired by the 2004 Phantom of the Opera film by Joel Schumacher. Which I will admit to finding a bit disappointing because mask or no mask Gerard Butler was still hot (and remains so till this day). After reading Le Fantôme de l'Opéra, seeing both of the musicals live (Phantom of the opera and Love never dies, the latter of which I was not expecting.) and watching all of the movies - like the Phantom-addict I am - I have still decided that the 2004 film version is what inspires me most. Thoughts and opinions on the subject are always welcome. I do try to use correct grammar and spelling, but I'm aware I'm not particularly good at it and constructive criticism is always welcome.

In the previously mentioned film, Raoul seemed lovely, but I'm sure you'll catch on to the fact that I'm not a huge Raoul fan rather quickly in this chapter particularly. His personality in this story is more of an extension of his personality in Love Never Dies.

Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera or any of its characters. If I did Christine would have been less shallow and ultimately ended up with Eric in the first movie/ play/book. You get my point.

* * *

 **Introduction:**

It wasn't even a week after Raoul had 'Freed' me from the Phantoms clutches that I realised that I'd been freed from one prison only to be caged in another with a jealous and short-tempered aristocrat. My ballet and opera career smashed to pieces in the name of 'expectations'.

I looked down at the engagement ring resting on my finger. It never felt quite right. Though the sizing was perfect. It slid on and sparkled in the light and had been the topic of conversation among ladies at the many evening soiree's Raoul had insisted that we just must attend in the last few months since our escape. And I understood, he was a Vicomte and I was to be his Lady Wife, social events were to be expected and propriety must be observed, but already he was so different then he was at the Opera house. He was sweet and patient and kind. And now… decidedly not. Raoul's short fuse was ignited at the smallest things and calming him was near impossible.

Even at his worst, my Angel of Music had always been at the very least semi-logical.

Today was one such time from the moment Raoul woke he was angry, such was his way since we left the theatre, I'd stayed with him at his Parisian Townhouse -sperate bedrooms of course- until we were wed and moved into his countryside mansion. This infuriated him, my refusal to share his bed even after his _grand_ rescue mission.

Raoul had grabbed my chin and roughly tilted it up to force me to look him in the eye.

"Soon you will be my wife, and then you'll share my bed whether you like it or not." Forcefully chucking my chin before marching off to his 'gentlemen's club' to begin his daily ritual. Constantly and most consistently, drinking and gambling.

That was the first time he'd said it to me the morning after out escape from the opera house. I'd brushed it off then, but it had been a reoccurring threat, and each time he got angrier until I started barricading my bedroom door at night.

This particular morning, he seemed upset about something else, he'd hardly touched his food, instead opting for staring coldly at me from across the long table.

"It's the D'leuront's party tonight." He sighed. "The word is that the fair Clarice is with-child."

"That's wonderful Raoul." I paused my eating and looked up at him.

"Indeed. So, do you have anything less…" He gestured to my dress. It was a brown bustle dress with a high collar to cover the bruises. "Never mind." He huffed. "We shall have to call someone in."

Suddenly after three months of uncertainty and fear I needed to get out of this house like I needed my next breath.

"Really darling? Do you think perhaps that's a bit extravagant considering the event?" I began gingerly, I knew I was all but flaring red in front of an angry bull. "I wouldn't want to upstage the hostess… I know, Lord McCartney's wife is coming over for tea this morning- you remember Elizabeth, the red-haired one, you like her. I could send a messenger and have her meet me at one of the more prestige cafes' and after she could help me pick out a dress, perhaps some new gloves for the event?"

"Honestly Christine. To change plans so suddenly! What would people think?" His temper was beginning to flare.

"Quite right darling. I apologise. I just thought this soirée has come on quite suddenly, yes? I doubt Elizabeth has a dress made up yet either. I imagine her husband would be grateful for the reprieve… You know, he owns the largest commercial fleet of ships in France."

Raoul could never turn down a business opportunity, we didn't need the money, couldn't spend what we had in 10 lifetimes. Despite his efforts. But upon arriving here I realised very quickly that Raoul would do almost anything to gain back favour with his Father. Apparently, the opera ghost and fire fiasco, caused enough gossip to reach his parents in Belgium and they were less than impressed. I think the word 'scandal' was used.

I could almost see the thoughts passing behind his eyes before they locked onto mine and he sighed irritably. "Fine." Before his chair screeched out against the marble floors and he approached me with heavy footsteps, all but pulling me out of my chair and holding me in a bruising kiss, his hand wound into my hair so tightly that I could feel my eyes beginning to water. "Be back by 4 PM sharp."

"Of course, dear" I swallowed back the pain and blinked away the tears and forced down any shudders or flinches that might anger him further. We'd been down that path before and I didn't want to attend another luncheon with a bruise across my cheek.

* * *

I had the carriage stop a few streets away from the café, I needed the walk. Fresh air, time to think. The air was brisk, my cloak lined with fur to defend against the bitter cold, I pulled it tighter against me, suddenly regretting the choice to leave the warmth of the carriage. When I sighed, I saw my breath, and with every step I took a heel sunk into the white snow below me, between the shops and apartments, lay dark alleyways, dozens upon dozens, all identical, dark and damp. Until a piece of paper blew out from around the corner of one and hit my foot. It was sheet music, unnamed, still obviously in progress with circles where the notes might go, and lyrics scribbled out below them… it was _His_ handwriting. I'd know it anywhere. My Angel, my Phantom. Was he here? Walking into the alleyway the paper had blown out from I almost got lost in the darkness, it was sudden and blinding. Suddenly I tripped over something and steeled myself against the wall, scraping through the fabric of my gloves.

"I'm so sorry sir." I muttered out an apology, intending to walk away when lying on the ground next to the man groaning in pain was a mask. White. Very distinctive. "Angel? Is that you?" I asked bending down to see him more closely.

End of the first part.

* * *

Wouldn't it be mortifying if it wasn't him… OH, THE TEMPTATION!

Please review and share your thoughts, I'm going to continue on with this story regardless, its more for me than anything else, you write the story you want to read right? That's what they say. In any case, I'd still love to hear any thoughts on this chapter, or just on The Phantom of the Opera in general.

Till next time.


	2. Chapter 1

Author here! This chapter is very much about getting the story lined up and ready for the events that will begin to take place in the next chapter. I'm super motivated at the moment so work is coming out faster than it likely will in the future. I am particularly motivated by this story at the moment, hence the speedy updates, however in the future it will likely be a fortnightly update, rather than a new chapter every few days. That being said, please stick with me, I anticipate a few more chapters like this throughout the story, as well as the more exciting ones.

Having said all of that, I am aiming to have the next chapter up and running by Sunday at the latest. Like I said, motivated.

Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom of the Opera or any of its characters, anything you may recognise I credit to the brilliant Gaston Leroux.

* * *

 **Chapter One:**

I found my Angel a ghost of a man, a shell of his former self, but then so was I.

I bent down as he looked up at me, shivering, holding on to survival by a thread, bruised, battered, starving. It tore at my heart, he flinched as I moved to take off my cloak and put it around his shivering form. I could hardly see him in the alley but for the flickering light of the street lanterns lighting carriage's way through the snow.

Cuts and bruises littered his broken body and face, a white makeshift mask laying all but shattered a few feet from him.

"I don't need your help." He hissed, shrugging off the cloak only to have me force it back on him.

"Don't be so stubborn." I shot back, earning his shock. With a raised brow his eyes met mine, startling green surrounded by bloodshot red and the deepening yellowish purple that was a bruise just beginning to heal. "How long have you been like this?"

"A week? Maybe two. I'm not sure, the days seem- why are you here Christine?" He cut himself off, his melodic voice was gravelly, broken, with lips gone blue from the cold and the reddened distortion of his face seeming darker, the lumps and hallows more prominent somehow.

But I remained silent, ignoring his question. Because I didn't know if I would like the answer? Wasn't this the nameless Phantom who I'd fought so hard to be free of? Wasn't this a monster? The Wicked Opera ghost?

I'd fought to be free of a monster, someone who killed without provocation and delivered no mercy. But I'd no proof this opera ghost had done any of those things, Raoul could have been nothing but an empty threat meant to sway my mind…

Raoul. Three months with Raoul had cast a light on things hidden by romance and fear. Real monsters don't look like it, they don't act like it, and they know no one would believe you if you screamed. Raoul was a monster sheltered by wealth and hidden by the rays of the sun.

But the more I thought of it the more preposterous the idea of leaving this ghost of a man was. And he did look like a ghost right now.

"Come now, no one will be home for hours yet." I sighed, knowing this was a bad idea. What if one of the maids saw him? They worked for Raoul not me and would go running to their master. This wasn't playing with fire, this was all but lighting the fuse of a bomb, and eventually it would go off…

And yet with the looming threat of Raoul's wrath and this creature's obsession being re-ignited, I hid the distorted face of a dark angel in the hood of my winter cloak and piled his broken body into a carriage headed for the house.

Monsieur Fantôme didn't speak a word on the carriage ride there. He sat across from me, clutching the cloak for any warmth it could provide and critically assessing me with stern eyes in his very own shade of green. When the carriage stopped, he looked out the window and then shot me a seething glare, like I'd just reopened an old wound.

" _Palace De Chagny."_ Read a silver plaque pasted above the elaborate front door.

"Breathe. He'll be gone for hours yet." I sighed, opening the door and leading him towards the front entrance of the house, quickly dropping a bag of money in the driver's hand and shouting back a quick thank-you.

"You wouldn't bring someone like me here while _he_ was home?" he spat, moving to walk by himself and almost crumbling to the floor before I used whatever strength I had to drag him back up, putting his arm around me before moving on.

"I try not to bring myself here when _he_ is home." I grunted under the weight moving us both slowly up the stairs.

"What's wrong? Is marriage not everything you hoped?" I couldn't see his face, but I knew he was snarling down at me. He didn't want to be here and maybe he would have let himself freeze, or starve. I didn't know, but he wasn't exactly trying to fight his way out of the carriage on the way here.

I pulled him up the last few steps, resisting the temptation to let go and allow gravity to do what it will. "We're not married." I grunted, leading him into my room and locking the door behind us, not willing to risk anyone walking in.

Forgetting the dirt and grime that covered the Phantom I removed my cloak and his coat and shoes before ordering him under the warm blankets of my bed -white sheets be damned- with a stern glare, leaving him shivering while I started the fire. A chore I'd not needed to do for myself in months but like most things it came back, much like riding a bike.

"Why aren't you married?" He asked, eyes following me as I moved closer to him, perching on the edge of the bed, the fire beginning to roar to life behind me. Already it was warmer. "I would have married you by now."

"I know you would." I stared at my hands, clasped together in my lap. "You are many things Raoul is not."

His stare turned cold before he turned his face away. "I'm aware."

"That's a good thing." He flinched as I moved over him, feeling for the fever I knew would come. At my steady gaze he relaxed visibly, the tension leaving his shoulders and his eyes softening. "Stay here, I'll be right back, you need food."

* * *

Getting the oversized lump resting in my bed to eat _anything_ had resulted in an argument of colossal proportions. In the end, he'd managed half a bowl of broth and a few bites of bread before passing out with the phrase. "I'm not sleeping, I'm only resting my eyes."

And then there was a rather abrupt knock on my bedroom door. And I felt my heart thud into my stomach.

Unlocking it, I opened it just enough so I could see out… the unimpressed face of a red-haired woman greeted me.

"Elizabeth!" I forced a smile on for the woman who had become the closest thing I had to a friend over the past few months.

"Hello dear! Forgot about our tea date, did you?" She raised her brow as she forced herself into the room, eyes darting to the man sleeping beneath my covers, as I rushed to close and lock the door and she tossed the large package in her hands onto the decorative chair in the corner and grinning at me like the cat who ate the canary. "Why Christine, I didn't know you had it in you, not yet wed and already with a lover! How exciting!"

"It's really not like that at all." I started quietly, not wanting to wake him and wondering what she must think. He was still dirty from his time in the alley, but food and warmth were more of a pressing concern than hygiene at this particular moment.

Suppressing a giggle, she said "Do you just pick them up off the street or- oh my god!" she gasped as she walked around him, seeing the other side of his face.

"Elizabeth! Blasphemy." She ignored me, eyes darting between me and him.

"Is that-"She bent in closer to look. "Is that _Him_?"

She didn't scream or faint or retch… she looked like a child on Christmas morning as she all but ran over to me and grasped my hands, she looked… giddy.

"This is not the reaction I expected." I deadpanned.

"My life is tea parties and galas, this is the most exciting thing to happen to me in years!" At my reaction- or lack thereof- she added. "I do read you know. Phillipe tries so very hard to hide the papers, but I must have my entertainment." She looked back at him and frowned. "Not nearly as bad as the papers made it out to be."

I just stared at her. I didn't mind his face so much anymore, in fact, I'd never even been repulsed by it, but it was shocking, it's simply not what people were supposed to look like.

As if reading my mind, she made a completely unladylike sound before continuing. "My sweet naïve Christine, you forget I am a lady of the court, and you have not seen some of the royals. Hideous and boring! They say its incest that does it. In any case, from what I've read at least your Opera Ghost has a personality, albeit an eccentric one."

"You need to go." I groaned as a headache started to rise. Elizabeth was kind in her own way and certainly never dull… but all things in moderation. Too much and a migraine lasting days would begin to arise. Maybe it was her perfume?

"Yes, yes. Quite right. Wear the dress tonight hm?" She said moving to pick up the large package and giving it to me. "I had it fit to my measurements, we can't be too terribly different. High neck, blue silk." Her dark eyes rested on my neck for a moment and I burned red. She knew.

"I shall see you later this evening!" She called out as she tottered down the stairs, bowling past the servants in the process.

I glanced over at the man curled up in my bed mildly concerned. I hadn't taken him for a deep sleeper.

* * *

I decided to end this one here because it was starting to get a little lengthy for me. Short and sweet and all that.

Once again, the review button is below, always interested in what you might have to say.

I realise I have portrayed Christine in a slightly different light, I don't mean to undermine her entire personality. But one of the things I did really like about Christine in 'Love Never Dies' was the moments of strength they gave to a typically (how do I say this nicely?) demure character. I completely understand that her personality is a reflection of her time and I think that's so important. But I did want to show how she's changed since leaving the opera, and I wanted to bring attention to how she acts around Erik vs how she acts around Raoul. Certainly, in the 2004 film version -which this is mostly based off- I thought Christine was much quieter and sweeter with Raoul, and more passionate with Erik.

All of this I hope will become more evident in chapters to come.


	3. Chapter 2

I'm late, I'm late! I know. I really am sorry, but I've been so tired these past few days, I imagine the heat wave of 40 degrees was partially responsible for that. In any case, the first 5 versions of this chapter all got tossed because of a lot of factors, but in a nut shell, I wasn't happy with the overall quality of the work.

I really liked how I wrote the introductory chapter of this story, and I would hope that the quality of my writing gets better as the story goes on and not worse. Anyway, I refuse to upload an entry that I deem to be complete rubbish. Hence why this is late.

Also, my intention is to have a new chapter out every second Sunday. Having said that, I live in Australia, so depending on what time zone you are in, that may vary a little bit.

Disclaimer: Not mine, inspired by the 2004 Joel Schumacher film. All original credits go to the Author Gaston Leroux.

With all that out of the way, we shall begin!

* * *

Chapter 2:

The D'leuront estate sat just outside of Paris, close enough to be sociable, distant enough to enjoy the quiet. It was the distance that I had issue with. Trapped in a carriage for what seemed to be hours with a drunk aristocrat. Though Raoul's speech did not slur nor slow and his mind was alert enough to note the extra length in the bottom of my dress, there was the overpowering smell of liquor flowing off him, as if he'd bathed in it.

In what I supposed was a show of wealth, the D'leuront's long driveway was lined with large tree's, the kind you might cut down for Christmas.

Despite being named Greenside manor, it was undoubtedly a mansion, neo-classical in style. The inside was decorated in what I imagined was the very height of fashionable living, with Lords and Ladies who matched, most everyone dressed in pastel.

And as Raoul began to fix me with a particularly foul glare – on account of our much darker state of dress, I'm sure- a shrill voice called out and the sea of pastel parted to reveal the Sun. Elizabeth, dressed in what looked like pure gold, fire red hair piled up in braids and ringlets as high as her poor dresser could manage. Looking between the two of us I realised, we looked like day and night.

"You did this on purpose didn't you." I mumbled as she kissed my cheeks in greeting. Her only response was a devilish grin before she moved onto greeting my Fiancé.

"Vicomte de Chagny." She greeted, suppying her hand for a kiss that he reluctantly gave, raising an eyebrow at the makeup she wore. I had often donned Rouge while performing at the Opera but was told that wearing such things were considered 'common' and 'unseemly' among the higher class.

Ladies did not shout, Raoul said.

Ladies did not command unnecessary attention, Raoul said.

Ladies did wear makeup, Raoul said.

And Ladies did not disobey their Lords, Raoul said.

Apparently, no one had ever told Elizabeth these things, and her husband did not care… or was too exhausted to. In any case, she did as she liked. Did she know she was the reason for most of the scandalised gasps and hushed whispers that she walked past? I suspected so, I also suspected that she revelled in it.

As ever, her husband, Phillipe, followed behind her, allowing her to soak up the attention.

"We should move to the ballroom; the dancing is about to begin." Elizabeth beamed.

"How would she know this?" Raoul asked her husband, ignoring the red-head entirely.

"She was eavesdropping." Phillipe answered, with an amused shake of his head for his young wife. I hadn't paid much attention to the age difference between them before. Phillipe wasn't fat or short like a lot of the other older Lords here. And although at least 30 years her senior, he looked healthy, was a good deal taller than his wife – who was by no means short- and had a head full of salt and pepper coloured hair, cropped short, just as Elizabeth liked it.

To her credit, Elizabeth remained unresponsive to the cleverly concealed insults Raoul made throughout the night . The only indication that she was fed up with it was interrupting him mid-sentence to ask Phillipe to dance with her. He looked at his wife adoringly and did as he was asked, I had a feeling their marriage was like that.

Something my impending marriage to Raoul would not be.

I reminded myself that if I had chosen the man presently residing in my bedroom, our marriage likely _would_ be like that. Loving, warm, musical.

Soon, Raoul and I were dancing alongside everyone else, waltzing to the melodic sway of the music, it could have been nice had my mind not been constantly drifting to other things and my dance partner's grip were not so tight.

I wondered, what my Angel would dance like? I imagined his grip, gentle and firm, but never painful, never bruising.

For all his faults, for all his sins, I knew he wouldn't hurt _me_. But then hadn't I thought the same about Raoul?

I had been lucky thus far tonight, he'd been distracted on the way here, and since arriving we'd never been alone. Any time he tried to speak to me he'd been interrupted, I knew I'd likely bear the brunt of whatever frustration that might have brought him once we left. Once we were back at the house if he was particularly concerned about image this evening.

I thought back to the last time we'd danced together. The Masquerade. He'd been so perfect then. Kind and gentle and gallant. My knight in shining armour. I often wondered what had changed since then, but I knew. Of course, I knew. He was, what he knew I wanted. He played the role of hero and saved the damsel in distress. And then, once I was saved, once the opera house -the only home I could remember with any clarity- was burnt beyond recognition and the only man who might help me was in the wind, or dead, then he broke character. And alas, my saviour was, in fact, a bigger, meaner monster.

At the end of the song, the music died off and then, before we'd even eaten, Lord D'leuront made his announcement, his wife at his side, dressed in pale blue, golden hair pinned up in an intricate design made almost entirely of ringlets.

Clarice was pregnant.

* * *

After dinner, the men retired to the parlour for… whatever men do behind closed doors. And the ladies shuffled off and gushed over Clarice. Everyone had speculated that she was pregnant, of course, it had been very nearly the only thing to be gossiped about in the past month at least. And Clarice _was_ wearing a looser dress, the waist beginning higher than usual, corset not as tight. But did not look particularly pregnant, she looked, well… ill.

Unlike all the other, too excited women, Elizabeth could not care less about lineage or children. I knew eventually she would bear one for her husband, for the sake of expectation if nothing else, but she was much more interested in dresses and shoes and what fine things her husband's money could buy. Of course, she had her own money, the only child of only children, who'd inherited everything when her father had passed. "But why would I spend my own money when I can spend his?" She'd said over tea one morning.

As such, she kept us to the outskirts of the room, she who didn't care to engage in baby-talk, and they who did not care to engage with me.

They were all deep in conversation, and drink when she started talking to me.

"So, your… musically inclined friend." She'd paused to think of a way to describe him. "Does he have a temper?"

"You have no idea." I sighed, eyeing the crowd of women, ever worried that someone would overhear.

"Like your dear Fiancé's?" she questioned, eyes landing briefly on the lace collar of my neck. Oh yes, she knew. "Has _he_ ever hurt you?"

"No." My memory briefly flew to the night we officially met, him throwing me to the ground. But that hadn't been him trying to hurt me. That had been him trying to hide his face. Even so, I amended my statement. " _He_ would never intentionally hurt me."

Elizabeth nodded, pacified by my answer.

"Did you know. That gentlemen's club that all the _menfolk_ attend. They encourage their members to hold a store of Laudanum, should us ladies suddenly become hysterical…" She looked at me as if that should have made her point. When it was clear that it hadn't, and I was not catching on she rolled her eyes and continued. "Phillipe hides it behind the liquor, I suppose he thinks he's sly… Quite undetectable in brandy I find. I suspect Raoul keeps some Cognac in the parlour."

I just nodded and said "Oh." Still not entirely comprehending why she might tell me this outside of warning me away from any drinks prepared by Raoul.

She squeezed my hand gently and smiled softly down at me. "Just keep it in mind. Should the need for such a thing arise."

She meant if he got too violent. Though in her home I imagine a raised voice was too violent. She'd only ever spotted one bruise on me. I said I'd fallen, she'd not believed it. "Are former ballerina's often so clumsy?" She'd asked before giving me the address to her family estate, noting that an army couldn't penetrate the moat surrounded fortress, let alone Raoul de Chagny, even if he had his Father's help.

By the end of this particular night, I thought I might need more than just a moat. When Raoul decided it was time to go, he entered the ballroom with Phillipe, he looked calm enough, but in the current emotional climate who knew how long that would last.

"We really must be off, _Dearest_." He all but snarled, tossing my travelling cloak at me as he approached.

In a strike of good luck, Phillipe noticed this, his brows drawing together before he clapped Raoul on the back and smiled drunkly at him.

"Let us walk you out, Friend." He nodded to his wife, who linked her arm in mine, and grinned at Raoul merrily.

* * *

Whether it was something Phillipe said in his goodbye or something else entirely, the ride back to the house was blissfully silent.

While her husband had Raoul distracted a few feet away Elizabeth had hugged me, a firm, all enveloping hug, that lasted longer than it ought to and I felt her slip something into my dress pocket. She stood close when she finally pulled away, gripping my hands in hers.

"Are you happy?"

Weary of my Fiancé overhearing I remained silent.

"Learn to be." She added, eyes briefly flickering to my pocket before sending me into the Carriage with Raoul.

I knew nothing about what she'd slipped into my pocket, but the weight of curiosity was weighing on me the entire journey home. The carriage interior scarcely warmer than outside, my fur lined cloak providing some insulation at the very least.

Before I'd left, I asked the Phantom if he would stay until I returned.

"If you wish it." He'd said, avoiding facing me in any way. I'd noticed that after he'd woken, he'd been more conscious of his face, more worried about me seeing it. And though I'd locked the door to keep the staff out, I was not so naive to think that he could not climb out the window and find some way down if he wanted to.

I'd dreaded this all night. Dreaded coming back to the house if he wasn't there. Dreaded coming back to the house if he was. If Raoul lost his temper tonight, _he_ would hear, and no matter how I'd treated him in the past, he would help me, protect me. More aptly, he would try. This once feared Opera ghost had hardly eaten more than scraps in the past 2 weeks at the very least. Even with Raoul drunk out of his mind, he couldn't be strong enough.

Through some miracle, I would have to keep Raoul calm enough for my phantom and I to at least survive the night.

The servants had all the fireplaces roaring, and wood well stocked. I felt a gust of warm air hit me as we walked through the front door, I relished in the heat and made a beeline for the staircase.

"Where are you going, Christine?" My heart hammered as he spoke, I could hear it booming I'm my ears. "It's early yet, join me for a drink." It wasn't a question.

"Of course, Dear. Allow me a moment to freshen myself up." I did my best to imitate the sweet smile Elizabeth had donned earlier that night before continuing up the stairs.

"You'll be in the Parlour in 5 minutes." I only nodded, unable to trust my voice.

When I got to my room, I locked the door behind me and released a breath I didn't realise I was holding. Finally, I found what Elizabeth had hidden in my pocket.

Two tickets out of Paris, leaving at midnight, just over an hour away. Two tickets… one for each of us I realised, looking up from the ticket to meet a pair of striking green eyes. He stood by the fire, watching me intently, the firelight flickering in his eyes. Someone else might call it hellish, the light bringing attention to every flaw on his marred cheek.

Looking back down at the tickets, Elizabeth's behaviour in the past hours made perfect sense.

The questions about the Phantom's temper, if he would hurt me. The comment about the Laudanum, and where I might find it, how I could get Raoul to drink it. Tickets out of Paris in the dead of night. With Raoul drugged we would have at least a day's head start.

She'd devised the perfect getaway plan.

Where would I go after? What would I do? I looked up at the Phantom as he approached me, slowly, quietly, as one might an injured animal.

I handed him the tickets.

"What is this?" His eyes flickered from the tickets to me.

"Tickets out of Paris, the train leaves tonight. I know this isn't ideal. Especially for you. But Angel-"

"Erik." He interrupted, when I only blinked in response he added. "My name- my name is Erik."

"Erik." I tried it. Why had I never asked for his name?

"There are two tickets here." He noted as if it was the most astounding thing.

"Yes… I have hurt you Erik." I stated, forcing myself to meet his eyes once more. "And I have no right to ask this of you, I know. But I will anyway. We could leave, you and I. We could leave Paris tonight, we could leave this _hateful_ place… and I can't go alone… Erik, I can't be alone in this world, so I am asking you. Please, come with me."

"Christine." He began hesitantly.

"I am not above begging." I added too quickly, feeling the searing heat of embarrassment burning at my ears and cheeks.

"Why?" He asked after a silence that had held my heart in a vice grip.

"Because, Erik, you are all I have." I snorted a sad kind of laugh.

"Christine!" Raoul called impatiently, Instinctively I flinched.

"Just a moment!" I called at the door before moving to take Erik's hands in mine, he was shaking. Hands freezing. "Think about it? I'll be back as soon as I can."

* * *

As I entered the Parlour Raoul turned to face me from where he stood by the liquor cabinet, he was about to pour himself a drink I realised. I forced on the biggest a smile I could manage as I strode over to him.

"Come darling, let me do that. You've been out all day, sit for a moment." I hoped that if I'd picked up anything living with performers for 10 years it was lying, acting.

Raoul looked at me oddly but did move to the lounge in the corner of the room. I exhaled a relived breath.

At that moment my dresser entered.

"Would mademoiselle like to come with me, so I might assist her in undressing for the evening?" The older woman asked.

"No, Merci Madam Bisset. I think we shall manage fine on our own tonight. You and the others may retire for the evening. Go home, see your families." She only curtsied, but I could practically feel Raoul's head whipping around to stare at me. I could feel his eyes on me like a dagger dragging over my back, that instinctual moment when your body says 'Run!'.

The rest almost just happened. The lies were pretty, everything in the last 3 months that he'd wanted to hear, all leading to me fixing him a drink. The Laudanum was exactly where she said it would be, I poured it into the cognac. The whole vial.

Before I could turn to hand him the drink, he took it from me, finishing it with one loud gulp and pulling me flush against him. When had he moved?

I shuddered, and he laughed, and he ripped the back of my dress open, exposing my corset, chemise and of course, the bruises. I flinched as he trailed his fingers over them, taking such pleasure in my pain.

And then he had to sit down, and then he 'wasn't feeling right'. And then as a moment of recognition flashed in his eyes… he fell unconscious.

Mary mother of mercy, it had worked!

I looked at the grandfather clock that stood in the hallway as I exited the parlour. The ticking had never been so loud. Had I only been in there 10 minutes? It felt so much longer, and though my heart was thundering inside my chest, I had never been more tired.

Absently, I made my way back to my room, not really focused on reality, my actions entirely automatic.

"Christine?" Erik caught me as I tripped on my own feet. With his sharp inhale I half realised he must have seen my back, the bruising around my neck.

The next thing I recall I was in another carriage, and then on the train, and then we were moving.

Was I wearing a new dress?

* * *

End of part 3.

This update -late as it may be- means that I have decided that this part was at least 50% good enough for my 2:30 AM brain. It has changed more times than you could possibly count and getting the words from my head onto paper was harder than expected.

Anyway. I do hope you enjoy it.

I should mention that there will be sexual and likely more violent themes in the future, but it's going to take a while. I don't think Christine is going to be sleeping with anyone if she isn't both comfortable, in love and likely married to them. And while this is a love story fic between her and Erik, one does not fall in love overnight and I want to see real character growth from both of them before that happens.

So, hang tight, I have at least the next 10 chapters outlined and I'm going to need more than that to really portray the story I want to tell correctly.

Please be patient.

I promise it's worth it... Well I think it is at any rate.


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